


The Black and Blue Poems on My Skin

by gwondy



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, soulmates but the """symptoms""" of soulmates get more and more as you age???, theres quite a lot of mention of bodily injury and things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 17:26:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9082282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwondy/pseuds/gwondy
Summary: On his eleventh birthday, Yuuri Katsuki wakes up to the pain of fresh bruises and scrapes forming on his skin, not unlike the ones he gets at skating practice. At fifteen, Viktor Nikiforov was ready to give up on the whole soulmate thing, thinking that he never had one, until he receives a huge surprise in the middle of a practice. The two know that they are not alone, but finding each other is going to be its own struggle.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I mentioned in the tags, but there is quite a lot of reference to bodily injury (like bruises and things). They are used as a major plot device, so be warned if you're sensitive to these kinds of things. 
> 
> This is also my first fic I've written for this fandom and first fic that I've written in like two years??? It wasn't beta-ed because I really don't know any one to beta, but honestly my English grammar is probably the only thing I've got going for me at this point, so it shouldn't be too bad. 
> 
> Be sure to check out my other yoi work! You won't wanna miss it!
> 
> Other than that, enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri recalled the sharp pain as if someone was digging their thumb into his skin, recalled the spontaneous red and blue marks, peppering his small, pudgy body. He remembered his friends and family regarding the marks as a side effect of a boy’s childhood, to his rigorous training as a skater. Most people got words, drawings as their first marks. But the boy knew better. He knew that the marks weren’t all his own. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference, but he _knew_.

The pain came at age eleven. It always happened at eleven. Yuuri recalled the sharp pain as if someone was digging their thumb into his skin, recalled the spontaneous red and blue marks, peppering his small, pudgy body. He remembered his friends and family regarding the marks as a side effect of a boy’s childhood, to his rigorous training as a skater. Most people got words, drawings as their first marks. But the boy knew better. He knew that the marks weren’t all his own. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference, but he _knew_.  

 The marks came during school; he would often spend his lunch break tending to the the dull pain of bruises and would continue to receive them until school was out, like a painful routine. Sometimes they were scrapes and sores, most of which were concentrated at the feet, knees, hands, and elbows. He became proficient at hiding his pain among classmates. Any familiar of Yuuri knew that there was not a day that passed where the boy was not covered in some wound. Yuuri also knew that if he told people that the marks were not his own, that they would believe him and congratulate him, for it meant a beautiful thing. It meant that someone, somewhere was bound to him in inexplicable ways. It meant that the boy had a soulmate. But Yuuri did not want everyone to know; he and his bruises, his beautiful black and blue bruises, the jarring crimson of the scrapes, were beloved and all _his_. He relished in the intimacy of the wounds, knowing that he shared in someone else’s pain and them, his. He didn't fully understand it; he was only eleven, but he knew that he experienced his soulmate's love in a completely different way than his peers. His soulmate must experience the same phenomenon, too, he realized one day. He noted with every fall on the ice, every misstep, someone was out there feeling it too. Sometimes he felt guilty; he fell more often then he liked. But that also meant that the other did as well, and it sent a wave of comfort through his body. The locality of the marks made him hope, somewhere inside, that his soulmate was a skater as well. He was sure.

 

* * *

 

Yuuri lived in a world where starting at age eleven one begins to receive any mark on their skin that their soulmate does. Bruises and scrapes, words and doodles, sometimes even tattoos if one dared to get one before they met their soulmate and gained their approval for one. He lived in world, watching eagerly as his classmates received these marks of the other half, small signs of belonging somewhere with someone. Girls squealed in little groups as childish love notes appeared in the large, scrawled characters students his age practiced in class. Boys only dared to write the letters in private, scared of being ridiculed by their peers for being too sappy. Most of the time, he saw them give their skin little pinches, something childish and lighthearted to serve as a reminder of their presence. Yuuri was not interested in the boyish games that they played. He had his secret bruises, his secret and special bruises that showed that he and his soulmate had more in common than he could ever imagine. He smiled to himself.

 Those school days were littered with remarks from classmates about how Yuuri never talked about his soulmate, as was a common topic. They were convinced he was one of the few who never had one, his bruises always hidden underneath his uniform. Words never appeared on his skin suddenly during class. They began to whisper. But the boy did not care; he had his scrapes and bruises, his soulmate’s pain reminding him of his presence. The other had his. Yuuri was always a secretive and bashful child, never really relating to his peers. He liked to believe that even if his soulmate decided to write declarations of love in big characters on his forehead, Yuuri knew he would not discuss it in class or concede to the inquisitive chatter of his classmates. It was too personal, something he didn’t feel like others needed to know about. Of course, he was fine with how his peers decided to handle the news of their soulmates, how they decided to recite each skin conversation to their friends, how they fantasized at lunch about how they looked like, what their interests were. It was simply that this kind of talk was not _him._ He was too bashful, too reserved. He knew that one day he would have to share this information one way or another, but he wasn’t ready. He was too embarrassed. He didn't want the unceasing attention of his family and friends. The bruises were too fresh, only appearing for a week at most. 

 One day, however, everything changed.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo, boy, I am so excited for the next few chapters. Please stay tuned because I will try to be uploading regularly since I'm on break. I don't know how long this fic will be, but I'll try to keep it a reasonable length. I will try to make individual chapters a little longer, as I've realized that this first one is kinda short. 
> 
> \--Gwondy


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor was used to getting everything he wanted. Countless medals in figure skating events, domestic and international? Check. Russia’s most prolific and sought-after coach? Check. Thousands of adoring fans and international prowess? Check and check. What Viktor didn’t have, what he wanted more than anything, was a soulmate. He was convinced he was one of the few that didn’t have one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah this is kind of soon. I start up work again soon though, so I don't think this will be a common occurrence, this twice-in-one-day sort of thing. Thank you all so much for your support! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Viktor was used to getting everything he wanted. Countless medals in figure skating events, domestic and international? Check. Russia’s most prolific and sought-after coach? Check. Thousands of adoring fans and international prowess? Check and check. What Viktor didn’t have, what he wanted more than anything, was a soulmate. He was convinced he was one of the few that didn’t have one. Ever since the day that he turned eleven, he waited eagerly for something, anything to appear on his skin. He spent countless hours in front of a mirror, analyzing every inch of his skin, willing something to appear.

Nothing ever did.

 He watched as his friends and peers glided around the rink, colorful smudges grazing their skin, appearing and disappearing so gracefully. He saw their faces when another message would pop up in the middle of practice. He saw Yakov, his coach, yell unconvincingly at those who lost focus because of the marks appearing on their skin. He begged so hard to be one of those people on the receiving end of those chastisements, to hardly be able to land a simple triple toe loop due to butterflies. He wanted red cheeks and excited squeals. He wanted to be able to rush to his friends and share the things his soulmate had written for him. He had everything else; why couldn’t he have this?

Viktor endured this for three, long years, three years of being nothing but a nasty voyeur of the love of others. Every moment he listened to his friends talk about their love, about their plans to meet their soulmates, every time he caught himself reading the words on people’s arms, he felt more and more disgusted with himself.  He felt removed from his friends, noticing their anxious glances at him whenever they talked of soulmate things around him. They didn’t think he noticed their worry, their hesitation to mention their soulmates around him, as if it would break his half of a glass heart. He and his rink mates were approaching the age where most people actively seek out their soulmates, many had already met and had started dating them, always finding time for things other than Viktor. Soon the worried looks turned into distance, and Viktor found himself alone in more ways than one.

He became angry. His skating became more furtive, more desperate, more error-prone. He would lead from sleepless nights into early-morning practices where he skated angrily and carelessly. Jumps that he normally landed with ease and grace became desperate pleas for solid ground. Careless mistakes that Viktor was never familiar with suddenly became the norm. His short program and free skate that he had so easily mastered despite its difficulty suddenly became excruciating. He knew his friends stared at him from the stands as he ran his programs in preparation for the Junior Grand Prix Finals. He knew that they knew what was going on, and he tried not to become absorbed into their disgusting looks of pity. He fell again. Night after night he acquired more injuries and lesions on his skin, adding to somewhat of a morbid collection, only to wake up in the morning to find ones that he had missed the night before. He seemed to be failing more than he could keep track.

 _Here’s the one from the triple loop. That one was when I wiped out during the flying sit spin._ He thought. He was lying in his bed, numb from all the falls he had taken and the hot shower he took trying to wash it all away. His feet were raw, his elbows and knees the color of plums. He felt the throbbing in his swollen hands as they ran over the various marks of failure on his skin, poking and prodding and feeling the pain.

 Night after night, element after failed element, he allowed himself to feel the pain of his failures, of his solitude, secretly wishing that he had someone to share it with. Someone to share the burden of his failures.

 The next day was no different. He woke up at 6:00 that morning unbearably sore. He began his new ritual, immediately going to the bathroom after he woke up and taking inventory of injuries that he had missed last night. There were always more, always more to count. Halfway through his routine, he received a call.

 “Hello?” Viktor answered, a clear lack of energy in his voice.

 “Vitya,” responded a solemn, aged voice. Yakov. “Vitya, I think it’s best that today you don’t come to practice. You seem troubled lately, and at this rate you’re going to give yourself an injury far worse than just scrapes and bruises,” The man continued tenderly, aware of Viktor’s circumstances.

 “Yakov, I…” Viktor trailed.

 “Vitya, it’s for the best.” The man emitted a large sigh. Viktor hung up.

 Viktor looked back up into the mirror at his dull, baggy eyes. Patches of purple rimmed his eyes and interrupted his smooth, marble-like skin. He was too exhausted to be angry but too resolved to let go of the one thing that he could love in this world, if not a soulmate: skating. He quickly got ready and left his house, not bothering to eat breakfast. Not that day. The world could stop him from having a soulmate, from having friends, but it would not take his career and his passion. He fought through the chilly November breeze the few blocks it took to get to the rink. He was late for practice time, but he didn’t care. He had a competition soon. Another qualifier for the Junior Grand Prix Final.

 

* * *

 

 Viktor trudged to the front door of the rink to the lobby, listening to his rinkmates’ shouts coming from inside. So unaware, most of them so in love. It was 7:30, so he would have missed warm ups right now. Club policy stated that if you were more than thirty minutes late, that you don’t even get to participate in practice. For a normal hobby skater, that wouldn’t seem like much of a punishment, but to the budding professionals and new figure skating faces of Russia, that was the worst punishment you could ever inflict.

 Again, Viktor didn’t care. He skipped the locker rooms and headed straight for the rink, bag in tow. He hastily ripped his skates from the contents of the bag and half-hopped, half-laced up on his way to the ice. He dropped his bag right at the waist-high gate separating him from the ice and unceremoniously swung the gate open. He noticed the silence, the gazes of his peers, the fuming yet conceding look on Yakov’s face. It was this attitude that made Viktor an insufferable pupil, but it was also this attitude that made Viktor a champion. One could not have the victory without the defiance.

 In that moment, everything seemed to halt, Viktor’s rinkmates were finally silent, finally not talking about their soulmates. Their eyes were finally fixated on him with an emotion other than pity. The only thing that remained was the crisp and slightly acrid smell of the chemical ice and the low hum of the ventilation system. Muted sunlight filtered through the skylights and seemed to focus on him. He would not fail this time.

 Viktor did a few laps around the rink as warm up, incorporating various turns and spins in order to work out his tense muscles and ease his sore joints. _I’m not going to make a fool out of myself this time_. He thought as he gained speed, bolstered by the entranced gazes on him, fueled by the pain of those black and blue reminders plastered on his body. _I am going to do this if it kills me_. He prepped for the jump, aligned his body just so, extended his arms to begin the spin just like he had done a million times before, and…

 A glimpse of black. The crunch of blades hard against ice. A sudden fall of snow. An explosion of color behind eyelids. The feeling of impact. A loud crack.

 Viktor came to with a clear view of the smattering of blood on the rink wall and a feeling of pressure behind his nose and eyes.

 But he had never been happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Viktor, if you had only known where those new bruises came from. Anyway, again thank you for your support, expect another chapter very soon!!!


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